He protests now against those promises as extorted by violence,—­a strange plea indeed for the representative of St. Peter!

Rome is all full of the effigies of those over whom violence had no power.  There was an early Pope about to be thrown into the Tiber; violence had no power to make him say what he did not mean.  Delicate girls, men in the prime of hope and pride of power,—­they were all alike about that.  They could die in boiling oil, roasted on coals, or cut to pieces; but they could not say what they did not mean.  These formed the true Church; it was these who had power to disseminate the religion of him, the Prince of Peace, who died a bloody death of torture between sinners, because he never could say what he did not mean.

A little church, outside the gate of St. Sebastian commemorates the following affecting tradition of the Church.  Peter, alarmed at the persecution of the Christians, had gone forth to fly, when in this spot he saw a bright figure in his path, and recognized his Master travelling toward Rome.  “Lord,” he said, “whither goest thou?” “I go,” replied Jesus, “to die with my people.”  Peter comprehended the reproof.  He felt that he must not a fourth time deny his Master, yet hope for salvation.  He returned to Rome to offer his life in attestation of his faith.

The Roman Catholic Church has risen a monument to the memory of such facts.  And has the present head of that Church quite failed to understand their monition?

Not all the Popes have so failed, though the majority have been intriguing, ambitious men of the world.  But even the mob of Rome—­and in Rome there is a true mob of unheeding cabbage-sellers, who never had a thought before beyond contriving how to satisfy their animal instincts for the day—­said, on hearing the protest, “There was another Pius, not long since, who talked in a very different style.  When the French threatened him, he said, ’You may do with me as you see fit, but I cannot consent to act against my convictions.’”

In fact, the only dignified course for the Pope to pursue was to resign his temporal power.  He could no longer hold it on his own terms; but to it he clung; and the counsellors around him were men to wish him to regard that as the first of duties.  When the question was of waging war for the independence of Italy, they regarded him solely as the head of the Church; but when the demand was to satisfy the wants of his people, and ecclesiastical goods were threatened with taxes, then he was the prince of the state, bound to maintain all the selfish prerogatives of bygone days for the benefit of his successors.  Poor Pope! how has his mind been torn to pieces in these later days!  It moves compassion.  There can be no doubt that all his natural impulses are generous and kind, and in a more private station he would have died beloved and honored; but to this he was unequal; he has suffered bad men to surround him,